


What He Would Not

by Rubynye



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One week, three summers, six beers, and Charlie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Would Not

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Spoilers: **Incest.** Pre-series; you'll have to decide for yourself how old Charlie is.  
> Acknowledgements: [](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/profile)[**brown_betty**](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/) beta read this, with her usual wonderful perspicacity. [](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomedet**](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/) audienced and cheered so vibrantly she echoed around the world. And [](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/)**dsudis**'s stories were my inspiration, both in general and in specific (the plotbunny for this story came from one of her stories; fans of hers can probably guess which).

Title: What He Would Not  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: NC-17 with warnings.  
Pairing: Don Eppes/Charlie Eppes  
Summary: One week, three summers, six beers, and Charlie.  
Title from Robert Browning's "The Confessional".

Don wasn't being selfish.

After all, he was at home, spending his week off babysitting Charlie. Their parents were on a cruise, because they never saw each other anymore, because Mom spent the school year like always, in New Jersey with Charlie. Don was stuck in the house because the car was having trouble -- because _Charlie_ had tried to _fix_ it with his _knowledge of advanced physics_ \-- and it was raining horrendously, big explosions of thunder like bombs going off, and tomorrow seemed soon enough to deal with everything. Where he _wasn't_ was with Michelle and the team, since Michelle wasn't interested anymore, everyone else had places to be over midseason break, and if he felt just a tiny bit sorry for himself it was probably the beer, since he wasn't being selfish.

So Don slouched on the couch, letting Charlie babble drunkenly over the sounds of a televised baseball game, going on like always about math, and yeah, between them they'd pretty much put away the six-pack. Charlie had blushed for about the first beer and a half, shocked and proud at getting away with using his grad student ID to buy it. Don shouldn't have let him, should've made him take it back, should've pointed out that what he'd done was _illegal_. But what the hell, he'd thought, after the car and everything a beer or six had sounded good, and Don couldn't have refused the apology in Charlie's eyes.

Don blinked at that memory, already turning towards Charlie, and gritted his teeth as he made himself focus instead on the bright square of the TV. He wasn't going there, he wasn't looking at Charlie, who'd grown three inches since December, whose cheeks had lost their baby fat even though his smile was still a kid's, open and friendly. Don was watching the game, not the way Charlie's faded T-shirt pulled threadbare and taut over his shoulders, the ropy curves of new muscles flexing as he gestured.

Charlie was as brilliant and as oblivious as ever, and Don listened to the familiar voice rushing on endlessly and tried not to notice everything that had changed when he wasn't around to watch. Over dinner Charlie had mentioned a couple of girls, although Don was pretty sure the research partner who made him grin like that was a guy. Still, it didn't matter as long as Charlie mentioned people, as long as he was noticing people who weren't Don. As long as Don had proof that he hadn't screwed his baby brother up past all fixing, that last summer was a year ago and had never mattered, just like he'd told Charlie. If he felt a stitch in his chest at that thought it was only a little selfish, easily washed away by a last swig of beer.

"...and, hey, Don?" in Charlie's suddenly tentative voice. Don blinked, wondering hazily for a moment if there was a syllable in some mathematical term that coincidentally sounded like his name, but Charlie was right next to him, the couch dipping away from Don's thigh under the pressure of Charlie's knee. "Don, are you okay?"

Don turned his head, and his nose nearly collided with Charlie's. "Whoa, buddy." Charlie was on hands and knees, leaning into Don's space, beer bottle tilting precariously in his grip. "You're gonna spill that." _ Right next to Don_, lips shiny-wet and parted, eyes wide and worried, close enough to smell the malty whiff of alcohol and to feel the warmth off his skin. Don's skin prickled in answer, his nerves sparking; his body remembered Charlie's warmth, and he knew he should've pushed Charlie away, or at least opened up some space between them. But the arm of the couch held Don in place, and he couldn't move unless he tossed himself backwards over it.

Charlie glanced down at his beer, lurched over almost as fast as falling and thumped it onto the floor. "Don," he said earnestly as he pulled himself back up nearly into Don's lap, his eyes huge in the flickering light. "Are you all right? You haven't said anything in like ten minutes."

"Well, you were off on math, I figured I'd catch up eventually." Don waved his hand, only to find his empty bottle still in it. He shifted sideways to stick it on the coffee table, and maybe get up as well. Thunder crashed, loud enough to shake the house, making him think about how an earthquake really would've been just the beautiful finish to the whole day.

Charlie winced at the thunder, eyebrows drawing down. He hadn't even noticed the ongoing storm when he'd been talking about math, and Don felt a throb of guilt for distracting him, and a surge of anger at the guilt. "_What_, squirt?" Don demanded. "And stop staring at me like that."

"Don't call me a squirt," Charlie murmured, voice soft and unnervingly distant, his stare like heat on Don's skin. He reached up slowly to Don's shoulder, and Don was faster, stronger, he could have stopped him.

He should stop Charlie, he thought, even as he didn't. Don didn't move, he didn't breathe, as Charlie's hand tightened on his shoulder, as Charlie's gaze held his, as Charlie pulled himself over to sit crossways on his lap. The TV backlit Charlie's hair, curls outlined in slivers of blue-white light, his face shadowed and his eyes bottomless. Don could fall right in and never come up.

Maybe he already had. Charlie wobbled, clutching Don's other shoulder, and Don caught him with an arm across his back, all sinew and bone beneath the tee, keeping Charlie on his lap when he should've let him go. Charlie sat on him like a girl would, but not soft, not curved except for those curls, that cheek, those wide wide eyes. Nothing like a girl and every bit as gorgeous. "Charlie, stop it," Don muttered, his voice as hushed as Charlie's. "We can't do this."

Charlie shifted closer, heavier on Don's lap than he looked, but not so heavy Don couldn't have pushed him off. "Don," Charlie said, warm on Don's face in the cool air; he took a deep breath, about to say something else, but Don would never know what it was, because Charlie's parted lips looked unbearably tender for the half second before Don kissed him as hard as he could.

Charlie should've winced again, should've made a startled noise, should've punched Don in the shoulder or the gut. Charlie moaned, his mouth soft and melting open, somehow sweet and boozy from the beer, and Don could feel Charlie's heart pounding under his hand, Charlie's shirt bunched in his fist, Charlie squirming maddeningly on his lap. Don should've pulled back but he just sank in, his lips buzzing as Charlie moaned again, and at the first hot slide of Charlie's tongue Don groaned helplessly in answer.

Charlie gripped Don tightly enough to hurt as he shoved up into the kiss, getting Don back as hard as Don had started it, and, God, where had he learned to kiss like that, open-mouthed, all heat and fearlessness? Charlie's hands slipped up behind Don's neck, dragging Don down with his weight, his handprints on Don's shoulders sweetly aching as he sucked Don's lower lip. Don hadn't taught him that, and it made him desperately glad that Charlie had stolen some kisses like a normal kid should, even though he couldn't help remembering two summers ago when Charlie had told him, 'There are people I like at college but you're my favorite ever," and then kissed him, quick and awkward and shocking.

Charlie's mouth slid off Don's, wet heat on his cheek, and Don's hand flattened across the back of Charlie's neck, curls twisting under his fingers. He gasped, trying to say anything that wasn't 'yes' or 'more'; he remembered last summer, Charlie tentatively nosing along his jaw, teeth pressing into his earlobe too gently for a bite.

Not tentative now, Charlie bit Don underneath his ear, the hedonistic pain crackling right down his nerves. "Oh, God," Don groaned, his dick throbbing beneath the warm press of Charlie's weight, and Charlie firmly licked the bite, sending shudders reverberating through him. "Don't, hey, don't."

Charlie should have misunderstood, should have thought Don was saying 'stop' until Don could mean it, but Charlie was too fucking smart, laughing a low chuckle as he dragged his mouth down Don's neck, branding him with a bright scrape of teeth. Charlie curled his fist at the base of Don's throat, yanking his tee down, and bit again just over from his collar; he sucked hard on the gathering bruise and Don gasped harshly, struggling not to moan.

Charlie was dragging on the shirt hard enough to risk tearing it, so Don concentrated on the collar's bite into the back of his neck long enough to ignore Charlie's soft fierce mouth on his skin, long enough to wrench himself away. Charlie fell back onto the couch as lightning flashed, blinking those big dark eyes, curls over his forehead and his calves draped over Don's lap, and Don couldn't even tell himself he shouldn't take this any further as he stared at Charlie until his shirt blocked his vision.

When Don's shirt was over his head and he could see again, Charlie was smiling, his mouth gleaming wet, his eyelids sinking. He twisted until he lay flat, throwing his arms over the couch's arm and arching his long neck, tee riding up to bare the dark trail of hair dividing his lean belly. The air cool between them, Don couldn't look at anything but Charlie stretching out beneath him, couldn't do anything but get his knees either side of Charlie's thighs, slide a hand beneath his heavy curly head and lean down into his warmth.

Charlie smiled wider as Don's lips met his, slid his arms around Don's neck and squirmed as they kissed, pulling his legs up and wrapping them denim-rough around Don's waist. Don wanted skin, he wanted Charlie, he wanted to rip his clothes off, and Charlie laughed into Don's mouth when he dragged the tee up, barely letting Don pull away to yank it over his head before he slammed his mouth onto Don's again.

Charlie's arms and legs tangled around Don so tightly his ribs creaked. His chest hurt and he had to pull back from the kiss gasping and overwhelmed, by skin over lean muscle, Charlie's ribs beneath his hands, Charlie's cheek barely prickly under his mouth, and Charlie's moans echoing through his brain. Charlie all over him, thrusting against him, leaving only one thought in Don's head. He was an idiot. An idiot to think he could be here and drinking and not do this, an idiot to think this wasn't exactly what he'd selfishly been hoping for. An idiot for Charlie, who bucked hard, his jeans button clanking against Don's buckle; Don clutched Charlie's hips to still them and Charlie growled as he pulled back.

When did Charlie learn to growl? Don thought, barely avoiding a mouthful of hair as Charlie ducked his head and shoved his hands between their bodies, trying to open both their jeans at once. It was so ridiculously greedy Don had to laugh, pressing his shoulder into the couch to keep from falling on Charlie. "Hey, hey," he said as he covered Charlie's hands with his own. "Hey, wait a sec."

"Come on," Charlie whined, glaring up at Don as he tugged, his lower lip jutting with the same pouty face he'd been making since before he could talk. Don laughed again, sitting back on his heels, and Charlie let go and shoved himself up, kissing Don like a punch. The laugh jolted clear out of him, Don gasped as Charlie mashed their mouths together, Charlie's fingers splaying over his ears and cheeks and jaw. Dragging Don back down, Charlie shoved his tongue into Don's mouth, and when Don's hands flexed in shock Charlie's button was right there under them, the zipper snarling open before he even thought.

Charlie's hand sliding up over the nape of his neck, Don caught himself on one hand as Charlie sucked on his tongue, holding himself up an inch over Charlie's slender body. His skin prickled in the empty air, he wanted so badly to crush Charlie into the cushions, but he pulled back against Charlie's pull, letting Charlie kiss him fiercely as he slid his hand into Charlie's boxers. When he curled his fingers around Charlie's velvet-hot dick, Charlie rewarded him with a full-body shudder, from his hips out to his legs around Don's waist and his mouth crushed to Don's, his hand on Don's back clenching into a fist behind his neck. Charlie gasped, sucking air from Don's breath, and couldn't hold the kiss, his mouth shifting into words as his head fell back.

"Oh, God, oh," Charlie panted, clutching Don's shoulder, bucking wildly in his grasp. "Oh, God, Don, yes please." His zipper scraped Don's knuckles, and Don couldn't even get a rhythm.

"Charlie, shh," Don pleaded over Charlie's temple, lowering himself onto Charlie as gently as he could, gripping Charlie's hip with his freed hand. "Shh, I will, I will." It took a few moments to hold Charlie still, and his chest heaved under Don's, flat muscles and hard nipples surging along Don's skin. "But you gotta let me, buddy. Shh, be quiet, shh."

Charlie took a deep shuddering breath and collapsed all at once, his whimper something desperate and compelling that hit Don in the gut. "Don," Charlie begged, his voice breaking, and Don couldn't bear to hear it. He kissed Charlie to muffle him, and when he swiped his thumb over the wet head of Charlie's dick the answering moan was high and almost pained. Don gave in, jacking Charlie as fast as he could, pushing Charlie's jeans down and gripping a solid handful of firm ass, and Charlie clutched him frantically and shouted into his mouth, shuddering and coming all over both of them.

Don thought briefly that he should've taken off his jeans, and then much more viscerally that he was really glad he hadn't, as he managed to slump more beside than atop his limp and gasping little brother. Don's own dick throbbed against his fly, so hard he was aching, and Charlie had spattered him from belly to thighs, which really should have been something other than so hot it made him shake. All Don wanted, as he pushed up on one elbow and watched Charlie's eyelids flutter, was to cover those parted lips with his own again, cover Charlie with his body and thrust against him until he came.

He didn't. He scrubbed his hand off on Charlie's denim-covered thigh and watched until his eyelids rose slowly, until his mouth stretched and curved up in a wide smile. Don knew, better than he should, that he couldn't break Charlie's brain by making him come, but he still had to watch until Charlie looked up at him, bright-eyed as usual.

Don couldn't help smiling when Charlie grinned at him, wide and happy like the kid he still was, and then Don couldn't smile at all. He pushed up to sit, reaching to rub his forehead, but paused when he felt his tacky fingers tugging apart.

Charlie distracted Don quite effectively from his messy hand by surging up, hitting him square in the chest with both hands and kissing him, humming happily over his mouth. "We're all sticky," Charlie murmured like it was some kind of sultry secret."You should take these off." He tugged on Don's jeans.

Charlie's back was damp and sleek under Don's hands, and his smile wasn't anything like innocent anymore. "Charlie," Don said, trying to say, "no," and it just came out a groan.

"Let me try." Charlie was already opening Don's belt, undoing his button. "Let me try something, I was reading about it," and Don could hardly hear him for the rush of blood in his ears and his dick as Charlie's fingers pressed over it, pulling down the zipper. "Come on," Charlie muttered, lips brushing Don's mouth; he kissed Don as he tugged his jeans out of the way, hauling them and his y-fronts down to his thighs.

Charlie kissed Don softly, like he'd won and could go easy now, and maybe he had. He smelled freshly sweaty and muskier than last year, more like a man, and Don wanted him worse than ever; his heart banging against his ribcage, he squeezed his hands into fists to keep from squeezing Charlie, and hazily tried to figure out what Charlie was going on about this time.

Then Charlie pulled away, sliding to the floor, his curly head between Don's thighs. Don gasped and shut his eyes tightly, but the sight was already burned into his vision by another lightning flash, a thousand hot and guilty fantasies now solid and real between his legs. He should've known, he should've stopped Charlie, and the noise he made at the first touch of Charlie's soft lips on his dick wasn't anything like a word, was nothing but guttural encouragement.

Charlie had won, he knew it, and his muffled laugh vibrated as he wrapped one hand around Don's dick, the other splayed on Don's thigh. He pushed his mouth down, soft wet lips and only occasional presses of teeth, and Don's pulse pounded in his ears, his breath rushing harsh and fast. Charlie pulled up, pursed lips torturously brushing the head, and Don wanted so badly to grab Charlie's head and _push_ that his fists tightened on the couch cushion until his fingers almost punched through it.

Charlie pushed down again until his mouth met his hand, sucking hard now, tongue flexing against the underside of Don's dick. "Oh God, Charlie," fell out of Don's mouth, and he wanted to pull Charlie up and kiss him, tell him he didn't have to do this, beg him not to stop. He pressed his feet to the cool floor, keeping his hips still; Charlie slid his fingers up, flattening them on Don's belly, and this time he pushed down until Don hit the back of his throat. Don felt him swallow, felt him choke, and the tight ache in his chest hurt almost as much as Charlie's mouth felt incredible. "Fuck, sorry, I'm sorry."

Charlie rubbed Don's thigh reassuringly as he pulled up, and Don thought he was going to pull off and say something, or maybe, hopefully, horribly give it up. He should have known better. Charlie bobbed his head, sucking noisily, moving irregularly. Don's hips snapped up and Charlie made a squashed noise of surprise; Don tried to apologize again and could only gasp, tried to stroke Charlie's face and sank his fingers inevitably into his curls.

Don didn't push, he bit his lip and didn't push, he let Charlie's motion move his hand as he thunked his head back against the couch, his hips jolting as little as he could force them to. Charlie matched his pace, humming tunelessly, sliding his fingers under to cup Don's balls as he sucked harder between gulps of air, and Don pressed his teeth into his lip until he wanted to yell, kept his fingers straight in Charlie's hair, tried to remember anything that would help him hold on. Stats and schedules and Michelle's face all fell away as Don shook under Charlie's hot sucking mouth, and then Charlie took a deep cool breath and pushed his hand further under Don, pressing two fingers firmly behind his balls. Something throbbed _inside_ Don, and the stab of unfamiliar pleasure tipped him up and over, slammed his hips up into Charlie's mouth and Charlie's head into his grip and everything over the edge. Shouting from the bottom of his lungs, pleasure spiking through him, Don curled forward over Charlie and came so hard he saw bright flashes, red instead of white lightning.

Charlie pulled off, coughing and pressing his cheek to Don's thigh, wrapping his fingers around Don's dick and stroking until the pulses finally faded and it started to hurt. Don pried his fingers from around a fistful of Charlie's hair as he tipped sideways onto the couch, his bones resonating like a tuning fork. Charlie let go, setting his sticky hand on Don's hip, and Don opened his eyes to see Charlie staring at him with big dark eyes, his lips bruised and a splash of come on his cheek.

Forgotten all this time, the TV flickered behind him, and as Don watched, still laid out by the force of his orgasm, Charlie got to his feet, jeans sagging open, swiping at his cheek as he turned to grab the remote and shut it off. In the darkness after Don heard the clunk and slosh of Charlie's foot accidentally knocking over the forgotten beer bottle. "Shit," he muttered just as Charlie yelped, "Fuck!"

Then Charlie laughed, a low thoughtful chuckle, and Don heard him set the bottle on the table, heard his jeans land on the wet floor and three shuffling steps until he hit the couch, dropping himself more or less on top of Don. "So," Charlie asked, a quiver of excitement and a hoarse rasp in his voice, "Did you like that?"

Like nothing else, and there was no way Don would say that, so he rolled his eyes. "I came, didn't I?" In Charlie's _mouth_, no less, and he didn't feel nearly awful enough about it. "Are you okay?"

Charlie snorted, his hand finding Don's face. "I'm fine." He settled his head under Don's chin, lying on him like a body pillow. "That was _fun_. I should've..."

He trailed off, and there was no point in saying 'we shouldn't've', not now, not ever again. Don just laid his hand on Charlie's back, swallowing around the lump in his throat, staring into the darkness. His jeans were rumpled around his thighs, Charlie was heavy on his chest, and his body hummed with satisfaction. Maybe they'd just go to sleep. Maybe they'd forget in the morning.

"Drat," Charlie muttered. "I just had a better idea." He lifted his head, his chin pointy over Don's breastbone. "I should've asked you to fuck me."

So hot, so wrong, vivid as life in his mind, the image of fucking Charlie made Don's pulse spike with desire and shock. "What the hell, Charlie?" Don scrambled up as far as he could with Charlie straddling him and clinging around his neck. He could see himself rolling Charlie over, his hands itched to grab him and turn him, he could never do that with his little brother, going way beyond too far. "What-- no!"

He tugged at Charlie's arms, but Charlie hung on. "Come _on_, Don," Charlie said with exasperation he had no goddamn right to, pressed to Don from shoulders to hips, naked and hard and breathing damp warmth into Don's ear. "Come on, don't you want to? I read about it too, I know it would be so hot to have you inside me. I can't stop wondering what it would feel like."

He sounded breathy and ridiculous, but Don couldn't laugh. "Shut up," he snarled, reaching up to pry Charlie's wrists away. "Stop it, Charlie, I mean it." His jeans had slid down further, leaving no barrier between them, and despite everything his dick twitched with interest against the curve of Charlie's ass.

Charlie felt it, laughing as he ground down against Don, pressing his dick against Don's stomach, rubbing his ass over Don's. "I read all about it but I've never done it," he murmured, temptation in the flesh. "I bet I'd be so tight."

Don couldn't push the images away, the way Charlie would feel, the heat inside his body, how he'd whimper and shudder and shout. He'd never let himself fantasize _this_ because, just like he'd known, he couldn't stop thinking about it. "Fuck," he groaned, and when Charlie laughed again Don shoved him entirely off his lap, the laugh cut off by a huff. "God damn it, I said stop."

"Oof." Charlie kept sliding, and Don heard him smack down onto the floor. He thought -- he hoped -- Charlie would yell at him for the push, maybe get up and storm off to bed. Instead, from the floor, clearly and firmly, Charlie said, "I know you want to, and I want you to."

Don rolled to the floor, kicking off his jeans. Charlie was still talking, though he'd dropped the seductive line. "I want you to fuck me, Don." Now he was _explaining_, every inch the little professor. "I want you to be my first, I can't imagine anyone else. We fit together." Don reached him, groping up his long slender legs, squeezing his shoulders hard, and Charlie winced under Don's hands and _didn't stop talking_. "We're the two sides of an equation, it all balances, don't you see?"

He'd already made Don see way too much. "Charlie," Don breathed, his hands on Charlie's throat and the side of his face, and Charlie's breath caught and broke over Don's mouth just before Don kissed him. Don shoved his tongue into Charlie's mouth too roughly, and made himself pull back, but he only got as far as Charlie's cheek, his hands sliding back down over Charlie's shoulders and ropy arms. At least Charlie had shut up, his breath rapid and noisy as Don kissed his jaw and the tendon in his neck, his newly prominent Adam's apple, the hollow of his throat. Charlie's words filled Don's mind with a haze, thicker and more drugging than alcohol, and when he sucked on Charlie's right nipple Charlie whimpered, shaking under his mouth. Don closed his hands around Charlie's wrists, feeling the bones shift, squeezing too tightly, but Charlie just ducked his head towards Don, brushing his open mouth over the back of Don's neck.

Be still, Don wanted to say. Just be still and let me. He growled instead, sucking kisses over the ridges of Charlie's ribs, tasting Charlie's warm and salty skin, tracing his tongue along the newly defined muscles of Charlie's belly. The whole time he couldn't stop thinking of Charlie on his hands and knees, Charlie beneath and around him, Charlie screaming and impossibly tight, his head spinning between the images crowding his mind and Charlie tangible under his mouth.

He licked Charlie's dick, sweet-salty musk, and Charlie moaned and tugged against Don's hands around his wrists. Don didn't let go, pinning Charlie's hands to the floor as he sucked him in. If he let Charlie touch him, if he touched him anywhere else... Don breathed through his nose and went down as far as he could, swallowing around Charlie again and again, wiry hair brushing his nose and the scent of Charlie coating the back of his throat.

"Oh," Charlie gasped, not as loud as before. "Oh, Don, oh." He strained against Don's hold and Don squeezed harder, feeling the taut tendons in Charlie's wrists, the damp heat of his thighs pressed to Don's shoulders. "Oh, please, please," he whimpered, thrusting up into Don's mouth, banging the back of his throat, and Don let him, licking upwards encouragingly, wanting Charlie to come more in this moment than he even wanted to himself.

Charlie gave it to him, moaning his name over and over, thrusting wildly and coming down his throat. Don gagged and coughed, just like Charlie had, and didn't let up, didn't stop swallowing until Charlie fell backwards with an audible thud. Don let go and Charlie reached up, grabbing his arm with both hands and tugging until Don crawled up his body on shaky hands and knees.

When he got there Charlie kissed him, licking his mouth like nothing ever tasted so good, sucking gently on his bitten lip. Charlie tucked one hand around the back of Don's head, reaching down with the other, and Don had no strength left as Charlie's fingers curled around his dick, sweat-damp and sliding. Charlie felt tired in Don's hands, his lips lazily dragging against Don's, but his hand moved just fast enough, just tight enough, chafing up pleasure until Don gritted his teeth and came again in Charlie's hand, wracked with spasms until his arms gave out and he sank down beside Charlie.

After a few blank moments, Don rolled more or less to his side, lying parallel to the couch. His arm lay diagonally across Charlie, who curled up beneath it with a satisfied little murmur, tucking his head back under Don's chin. The floor was hard underneath him, the air smelled like sweat and sex and beer, and Don's whole body felt heavy, every breath slower. He didn't think he could've moved if the house started falling in. Charlie sighed and snuffled, smudging his gooey hand down Don's side, but it wasn't like it really made him any messier. The storm had moved on, reduced to dripping noises; the streetlight wasn't doing much more than letting Don know his eyes were open, so he shut them again.

Charlie was sinking fast towards sleep, Don could feel it in his increasingly heavy slump. He turned his face into Charlie's damp curls, thinking he should get them into bed, breathing deeply. No one smelled quite like Charlie, and Don tightened his arm around him, just feeling him slender and heavy, warm and close.

He took one more breath, letting it go in a sigh. Then he heaved his arm up and shook Charlie's shoulder, muttering, "hey, buddy." Charlie made an irritated noise, batting pathetically at his arm, and Don pushed himself to sit, thinking for an exhausted moment of leaving Charlie there. If he really _wanted_ to sleep on the living room floor...

But Don knew he couldn't. He shook Charlie again until he huffed and sat up, leaning against Don, winding an arm around his ribcage. "Mmph, bed," Charlie mumbled.

"No shit, Brainiac." Don pushed himself up using the couch, a headache flaring in his temple, and Charlie clung to him the whole way, plastered to his side. They squelched over Charlie's beer-soaked jeans, bouncing off furniture as they navigated by memory through the house and up the stairs. Don meant to put Charlie to bed and leave him there, but Charlie tangled his arms around Don, smearing a sloppy kiss across his cheek, and Don sank dizzily down beside him. Charlie pulled himself mostly atop Don again, his curls tickling Don's throat as he sighed happily and went right back to sleep.

Don didn't. He lay naked with his brother asleep on his chest, their legs tangled, Charlie's heartbeat slow and steady beneath his hand, and though he was exhausted, weighed down with physical satisfaction, his headache fading away, he couldn't sleep.

Three beers each. Three times they'd been alone together. Three summers in a row. Don didn't have to be a math genius to see the pattern, or the escalation. Almost all the time they were perfectly normal brothers and then... and then they weren't, and no matter how many ways Don knew this was wrong he couldn't keep his hands off Charlie. Hands, or mouth, or anything else, and Charlie obviously didn't think it was wrong, he didn't know any better. How could he when Don had fucked him up so completely?

Don was supposed to be the one who knew better, but the next time Charlie asked Don to fuck him, Don knew he would.

Don thought about the heat twisting low in his belly at the idea even now, sore and satiated as he was. He thought about who he could call, where he could spend the next few days, coming by the house every so often to check up on Charlie. He thought about how he could avoid coming home next summer, avoid ever being alone with Charlie again pretty much until the end of time. As his thoughts spiraled he lay listening to Charlie's slow breathing, with his hand splayed on Charlie's warm skin, telling himself that in another minute he'd disentangle himself, get up and stagger off to his own bed.

Warm light shone red through Don's eyelids, and he opened his sore eyes to bright hot sunshine. Muttering "oh, shit," under his breath, Don flinched away, shading his eyes with his arm. Charlie lay curled against his side, sleep making his smooth face look even younger, his eyes seeming even bigger when closed.

Okay, Don said to himself, shifting a little as he watched Charlie breathe. He'd fallen asleep, he'd spent the night with Charlie. It was morning now, and he shouldn't let Charlie wake up with his big brother still in his bed.

Don was still thinking that when Charlie stirred, a current of awareness rippling all down Don's side. He was still lying there when Charlie tilted his head, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes, voice rusty with sleep as he said, "Don?"


End file.
